Hand Job
by Are Are
Summary: Sequel to 'Lubricant'. This is ridiculous, fluffy smut. There will be a Part Three eventually to conclude the ridiculous smut.


Patience was a virtue, but Jimmy was lousy at being virtuous. Well- he was decent at it _sometimes_- but it was _consistency _that he lacked. For example: he'd spent _weeks_ touching Thomas's hand- which at first drew from Thomas a reaction that seemed highly akin to fear- and then he'd gone and botched the job by being too forward, and touching Thomas on the _knee_.

It had been a brilliant move on Jimmy's part- but even brilliance could backfire, sometimes, and leave you sorry for having been so clever to begin with. Touching Thomas's neck had been a bit much, straight away- a bit too intimate. The whole conditioning thing wouldn't really work if Jimmy didn't make it gradual and _casual_. Thomas was many things, obviously- some of which did not bear mentioning- but he was _smart_, too: astute, and annoyingly reticent. About certain matters of trust, that was. And Jimmy couldn't blame him- but he _could _show him the error of his ways.

For a bit- just a few days, really- he had gotten away with touching Thomas on the neck. That was quite something, the way Thomas had looked at Jimmy the second night he had grabbed the petrol jar. "Honestly, you'll have an ugly scar if you're not careful," Jimmy had said. He heard the friendly affection in his own voice- it always showed up in his tone when he talked to Thomas, now- but Thomas had not looked like he registered either friendliness _or_ affection- he had looked bewildered- and when Jimmy had taken a bit of jelly out of the jar and leaned towards Thomas with his hand outstretched, Thomas had blushed a dark crimson color.

_You are a ridiculous man, to be frightened of this, _Jimmy had thought- but of course Thomas could not hear him, and so Thomas sat very still while Jimmy rubbed his finger over the cut on his neck- his brow furrowed, and his mouth pulled into an uncomfortable half-smile- in what Jimmy assumed was a desperate bid for nonchalance.

By the end of the week Jimmy had been _sure_ he was getting somewhere. Thomas seemed less upset by the whole thing, and at whatever point in the night Jimmy chose to help himself to the petrol jar, he was not met by a gaze touched with such painful trepidation. On the last night, when the razor-cut was so healed that Jimmy knew there would be no call to attend to it again, Thomas had even- maybe_-_ leaned into the press of Jimmy's fingers a bit, and Thomas's eyes had _certainly _closed for an instant. Jimmy remembered that definitively.

Later, in his own room, Jimmy had racked his brain for another way to touch Thomas- not something obvious, because that would beg the whole _emotional_ I-trust-you-you're-important-to-me conversation that Jimmy was so studiously avoiding. A cut was an excuse- Jimmy was just being solicitous- but then, vagrant unrestricted _touching_ without purpose might make Thomas even _more_ terribly uncomfortable, and undo some of the good work Jimmy had managed on the other man's brain. Or outlook. Or comfort level. Whatever it was that Jimmy was working on.

And Jimmy had to keep in mind, always, that Thomas had rather unwholesome _feelings_ towards him. So there was also Thomas's guilty conscience clouding up the issue.

Jimmy stood in front of his own vanity, and stripped, watching himself in the mirror as he unbuttoned his own shirt- it was a bit disorienting to watch yourself do everything backwards, and his fingers fumbled more than they would have if he had been doing the unbuttoning by muscle memory alone. Then he pulled off his undershirt, to reveal his chest, and finished the job, so that he stood completely nude, looking at his own reflection.

_So, _Jimmy wondered, his eyes skimming over the reflection of his face- _what's the most innocuous place to touch a person?_ Not the torso, certainly. Jimmy ran his fingers along his own chest and tried to envision touching Thomas in such a way, but of course it was ludicrous. _Something that doesn't smack of indecency, then,_ Jimmy thought, waving his hand aimlessly over his own form- and then he paused, looking into the mirror, as the movements of his fingertips.

_Right_. _Obviously_. Jimmy waved his hand in front of himself. There was no contract so universal as a handshake- that old symbol of "I don't have any weapons on me" bespoke trust from the dawn of time. _Hands,_ _then_, Jimmy decided, and put his pyjamas on.

* * *

His plan went into effect the next night. "What an awful day," Jimmy groused, letting himself into Thomas's bedroom.

"You always say that," Thomas said, without looking up- he was nose-deep in the newspaper, a cigarette burning away in his hand.

"And I always _mean_ it," Jimmy replied, closing the door and coming to sit next to Thomas on the cot. The low light in Thomas's room gave the shadows a tangible, corporeal quality that Jimmy found oddly comforting. When Jimmy had, on a whim, switched off the lights in his _own _room and lit candles, trying to simulate the effect of a warm, low lit cave- the quality that Thomas's room always had, to him- it hadn't been quite the same. Something about the ceiling or the arrangement of the furniture gave Thomas's bedroom a singular feeling- an atmosphere that made it Jimmy's favorite place to pass the time.

"What news of the world today?" Jimmy asked, leaning closer to Thomas so that they could peer at the paper together. "Your neck is healing nicely," Jimmy said, and Thomas cleared his throat. "Right," Thomas said, staring at the paper. "Hmm. Would you like to be caught up on developments in the political talks in Genoa?"

"Ugh. Give me obituaries and give me editorial cartoons, but never give me politics," Jimmy said, and Thomas snorted, and flipped a few pages forward- but Jimmy pushed the paper away, making Thomas look over at him.

"Is there a problem?" Thomas asked, arching an eyebrow, and Jimmy smiled at him. "Let me read your palms."

"One's a tad unreadable," Thomas said, sounding every inch the skeptic- but Jimmy saw the expression that had flickered, for a moment, across Thomas's face.

"Oh, read your _palm_, then," Jimmy said.

"Are you a gypsy, now?" Thomas asked, not moving, and Jimmy sighed, and reached out, grabbing at Thomas's wrist. "Careful, my cigarette," Thomas said, as if he were annoyed- but he did set the paper down, and shift his cigarette to his left hand, before putting it out entirely.

"Mm, no, but there was a valet in my last house who had a gypsy for a mother," Jimmy said, and clasped Thomas's right hand between both of his, holding it between them, against the bed.

Thomas took a breath, quietly enough that Jimmy could safely pretend he hadn't noticed. He studied Thomas's right palm- it was a little larger than his own, and Thomas's skin looked rather washed-out when paired with Jimmy's hand. The only blemish on Thomas's hand was a yellow stain, like a heart, that tinted the insides of his index and middle fingers.

"I can see where you hold your cigarettes," Jimmy said, and grazed the spot with his thumb, briefly, watching Thomas's fingers twitch at the touch.

"So that bloke was a gypsy's child?" Thomas asked, tightly, and Jimmy looked up at Thomas, studying his face. _He looks worried,_ Jimmy thought, and wanted to reassure Thomas that he had it well in hand, that it was only _conditioning_, after all- but instead he just nodded.

"Fred knew all kinds of strange tricks- he taught me how to whistle like this-" Jimmy demonstrated, bringing his thumb and index finger to his lips, but did not execute the whistle, as it was _deafening _and the hour was late- "-and the noble art of palmistry." Jimmy said the last to make Thomas smile, but Thomas still looked uncomfortable- there was an odd band of color across his face, and Jimmy studied it as discreetly as he could. A bit of color in his cheeks, and that strange, heavy look that Thomas's eyes sometimes had about them. Jimmy tried to be considerate of Thomas's feeling for him- honestly, he did- but at the same time, he had a mission- and Jimmy felt he must press forward with it, no matter _what_ kinds of strange faces Thomas made.

"You know your right eye shuts more than the other one?" Jimmy asked. It was true, he could see it- but somehow it only made Thomas's appearance more interesting.

"They both shut all the way," Thomas said, flatly, and Jimmy smiled. "I was just-"

"Saying I'm strange-lookin', thanks _very_," Thomas replied, rolling his eyes. He seemed a bit recovered- but then Jimmy pushed Thomas's sleeve up, and grabbed his wrist, lifting Thomas's right hand to the level of his face- and the amused expression was wiped from Thomas's visage.

Jimmy wanted to look, a bit more, at all the odd faces he could persuade Thomas to make- but he forced himself to study Thomas's palm instead.

"So was he your best mate? Before _me_, of course," Thomas said. He sounded as if he were trying to keep his voice light with some effort.

"Who, Fred?" Jimmy shook his head. "Nah. He talked too much. I mean _constantly_, I don't think I got more than five sentences in the whole year he worked there. And there was something a bit _dodgy_ about him, I couldn't ever put my finger on what-" so saying, Jimmy put his finger on Thomas's life line, and traced it, very lightly, from the edge of his wrist- all the way around his thumb, to where it terminated below his index finger.

"With men," Jimmy said, "the _right_ hand is what you're supposed to read. It's like- the left hand is what you're born with, and the right hand is everything you've done in your life."

Thomas did not reply, and Jimmy looked into his face for a moment, cataloguing Thomas's far-away expression. _He_ _likes it,_ Jimmy thought. _Good._ It made the conditioning that much easier if Thomas actually _enjoyed_ it.

"This here," Jimmy said, tracing the arc of the indentation again, "Is your life line. Or, uh- your _linea vitalis_. Oh, wait, I'm meant to start with the heart line, actually." Jimmy traced another part of Thomas's hand- a line that ran diagonally across the top of his palm.

"Hm." Jimmy said. "This is your heart line. Your _linea mensalis_. See how it starts high and ends low?" Jimmy swiped his hand across the line, again, and heard Thomas take a breath. _Everything is normal, Thomas, relax_, Jimmy entreated him, silently, but otherwise ignored Thomas's indications of discomfort. "That means you're idealistic. But reserved. Not good at expressing yourself, ah, emotionally. And your line is really very concave. You're sensitive."

Thomas snorted, and Jimmy flapped his own right hand in Thomas's face, making Thomas blink several times. "Too bad for you," he said. "You could've gotten one like mine. See how its straight across? I'm cool as a cucumber. Reserved, right, like I keep a part of myself back."

"The degree of scientific accuracy in this field is the stuff of dreams," Thomas said, and Jimmy let his gaze wander over Thomas for a moment. He was still flushed, but that was fine- Jimmy would rather have him suffer a bit of discomfort than be unhappy, or _insecure_, or whatever way it was that Thomas felt usually.

"It's fun, though," Jimmy said, making Thomas laugh. "Yes, brilliant fun," Thomas said, and the insouciance of his tone was undercut by the hoarse edges of his voice.

"Now," Jimmy said, reclasping Thomas's hand, "this-" he drew, to illustrate his meaning, his fingertips across the skin of Thomas's hand- "is your _linea ceph-_ your _linea cephalica-_ your _head_ line. More about thoughts than the heart line- that's about, y'know, feelings-"

"You don't say?" Thomas put in, and Jimmy looked up in time to see Thomas's smirk.

"Oh, be quiet," Jimmy said, smiling. "It's... where was I? It's your _head_ line, and yours is- you have a smaller second line under it- two lines are _good_, means you're smart. And the way the line descends- like _this_-" Jimmy traced it, for emphasis- "that's because you're imaginative."

"Are you making this all up?" Thomas asked.

"Not hardly. There's actually loads more, but I can't remember it all," Jimmy said. Carefully he considered Thomas's life line. Jimmy could feel the beat of Thomas's heart in the palm of his hand, and he drew his fingers in circles against the point of Thomas's pulse. "Hmm."

Jimmy saw, looking up, that Thomas's eyes had fallen shut, for a protracted instant- but then they flew open again, and Jimmy quickly reverted his gaze to the other man's hand.

"It's broken here- oh, you have a whorl cutting through it, must've been in the hospital once," Jimmy went on, a bit hurriedly. "And..." Jimmy stared closely at Thomas's hand, lifting it up to his own face- but he lifted it too quickly, so that Thomas's fingertips brushed against his mouth- and Thomas jerked his hand away, as if he'd been burned.

"Sorry," Jimmy said, and Thomas casually set his arm down, against his own body, as if belying the obvious way that he had flinched back from Jimmy. "S'fine," Thomas said, and lit another cigarette, holding it deliberately with his right hand in a way the indicated the reading was over. Thomas looked rather tense- Jimmy could see the rigid line of his shoulders, holding him upright- as if there were wired-off pins attached to his bones that pulled him forcibly into a position of perfect posture.

"I don't remember any more, anyways," Jimmy said. "I think your hand shape is- uh- let's see- longer fingers than palms- square shape-" Jimmy didn't _need _to be staring at Thomas's hands to recall the _general _shape of them- he had studied them many times, when they were playing cards. "I think you're Air," Jimmy said, after a moment of consideration.

"I'm air." Thomas said, expressionlessly. His face was still red. He shifted his legs around on the cot, and moved backwards, putting space between himself and Jimmy. _No, don't do that_, Jimmy thought, worried that his _conditioning_ had, in this instance, been a miserable failure.

"Yes, _Air_," Jimmy said, inching forward, to counteract Thomas's retreat. "There's an element for each of the four major styles of hands."

"There are only _four_ styles of hands in this world?" Thomas asked. Thomas's voice had now evened out enough that he could pour some incredulity into it, and Jimmy nodded, mock-seriously. "Yes. And only four types of people, apparently. Now. Your type is, um... Air- uh, you're witty... but you can be spiteful- and cold- well, I don't think _that's _very accurate- and, uh, different from other people. Unique, that's what I mean. Like you do things differently. And you're very- ah- _cerebral._"

"Lovely," Thomas said, and exhaled a lungful of smoke. His exhalation was a little shaky- but Jimmy didn't _mind_, really, if he affected Thomas. In fact- maybe it was _better_ that he did. He could show Thomas how he cared for him, and how they would be fast friends always, regardless of whatever feelings Thomas harbored for him.

They sat silently for a moment- but to Jimmy it was a companionable silence that pressed around them. The ambiance of Thomas's room was so comforting that he did not mind keeping quiet, for a bit- though of course Thomas would never meet his eyes for too long. Thomas's gaze was an enigma- he would blink rapidly at things, as if in consternation- or he would be impossible to pin down, his pale irises sliding shiftily back and forth and away, just when you wanted to catch his glance.

"And what type are you, then?" Thomas asked, eventually.

"Ah. Me." Jimmy had the description Fred had given him all but memorized, he'd always liked it. "I have _these_ sort of hands-" Jimmy held both his hands up, and turned them back and forth, to illustrate. "My hands are Fire- with fingers shorter than my palms- and _that_ means that I can be, ah: '_spontaneous, enthusiastic _and _optimistic.'_ " Jimmy ticked off his positive qualities on his fingers: one, two, three. "I don't know if I'm optimistic, actually," he admitted, after a pause.

"No poor qualities for your type, hmm?" Thomas wasn't quite smirking, but Jimmy could hear a smirk in his voice.

"Not so," Jimmy retorted. "_Sometimes _ Fire-types can be: 'egoistic, impulsive and insensitive'. I- they- I mean _I_- do things 'boldly and instinctively'."

For some reason that made Thomas laugh. He laughed lowly, bringing his free hand to his mouth, and sat chuckling with his knees drawn up. There was something unfunny about his laughter, and Jimmy grabbed his arm just under the shoulder, making Thomas stop abruptly.

"You're always _so_ put out," Jimmy said- he said it very seriously, looking straight into Thomas's eyes- but for some reason his _saying _it made the color come rushing back to Thomas's face.

"I am not," Thomas said, taking a drag off his cigarette and making sure to blow the smoke well away from Jimmy.

"You _are_," Jimmy insisted, tugging on his sleeve, until he got Thomas to give him a grudging smile.

* * *

That was the beginning of the hand-touching. Jimmy had not been so bold as he was that first night- he didn't want to give Thomas such an attack of nerves- but for the next several days, whenever they sat at cards-alone, in the late hours, on Thomas's cot- Jimmy would lay his hand near Thomas's, so that their fingers touched. After the first twelve or so times Thomas stopped pulling his hand away, and Jimmy felt badly that it had taken Thomas a _dozen_ tries to realize that he was not the villain, touching Jimmy against his will- but rather that Jimmy was the one initiating it all. _Poor Thomas, still so ashamed of how he comported himself a year and a half ago,_ Jimmy thought, feeling a swell of shame at his own actions. _If you'd just've let him down gently, it wouldn't have ever gotten so bad that now you need to practice all of this _conditioning_ just to undo the damage._

But he _couldn't_ have let Thomas down gently, because- well, that was a slippery slope of rationalization that Jimmy had fallen down too many times before. _What's done is done_, he told himself, _and now you have to work with it._

Jimmy liked it, though- the familiarity of touching Thomas, and the vague, if persistent, idea that he could free Thomas from some inner prison. Jimmy would come fully awake in the early mornings, earlier than his alarm was set for- and all but _leap _out of his bed, feeling that he had something to be excited for. The sense of excitement chased him through his days, waning in the long dull afternoons, and then coming back with greater and greater intensity as it got later, until the moment when the day was done, and he could finally push open Thomas's bedroom door.

Soon enough Jimmy was able to rest his hand atop Thomas's hand without Thomas looking at him too much askance, although even after _weeks_ of it Thomas would still blush, as if they were doing something terribly risqué.

Perhaps it was that- the knowledge that Thomas loved him _so_- or perhaps it was simply the success of Jimmy's whole practice of the theories of Pavlov whatever-his-name-was, but something made him overconfident, and he made a mistake. One evening, when he and Thomas had been sitting upright, side by side, on the edge of Thomas's bed, Jimmy had been strangely overcome by goodwill and happiness, and, in the middle of telling a bawdy joke, he had moved his hand from where it rested on Thomas's hand- and placed it, rather firmly, on Thomas's knee.

Jimmy had not even had time to tell the punchline, so quickly had Thomas risen from the bed, and then Thomas had explained to Jimmy, very nicely, that he was extremely _tired_, and needed to sleep immediately. _Right, like I don't know that you just want me to leave,_ Jimmy had thought, feeling foolish and bizarrely upset by Thomas's dismissal of him.

For a while Jimmy made no further steps- but he did his utmost best to be _nice_, if he could manage it- and one evening he stroked his fingers across the back of Thomas's ungloved hand, which had drawn a sharp breath from the other man- but no objection and no dismissal- and so Jimmy did it _every_ night after.

* * *

The _knee_ thing might not've worked, but Jimmy found other, subtler ways to show Thomas his conviction in the steadfastness of their friendship. For example- on this evening, when Jimmy let himself in to Thomas's room, he bolted the door behind himself. Once upon a time even shutting the door had been unfathomable, but this was the second week of Jimmy locking it, and Thomas had given up throwing him a strange look each time he did it.

"Today was _horrid_, you're glad you weren't here," Jimmy said, and flopped down onto the bed without preamble, coming to sit closely next to Thomas. "How was your half day? How was Ripon?"

"Fine," Thomas said, nodding.

"I thought you said you'd bring me back something _good_," Jimmy said, and Thomas favored him with a look of amusement. "_You_ said I'd bring you back something good," Thomas replied. "And I have done, hold on." He got up neatly, and Jimmy watched him interestedly as Thomas lifted a gold-foiled box out of his desk- and then he walked over to his bureau, and pulled out a bottle.

"You brought me _alcohol_, I think I love you," Jimmy said, his eyes falling shut for an instant- and then he paused at his own rather _bad_ choice of words. Thomas faltered slightly in his step as he crossed back across the room- but then he recovered, and sat down on the bed as if nothing had happened at all.

"Just wine," Thomas said- but he handed over the box, not looking at Jimmy as he did it. "I only have one glass- and even that's a mug." Thomas said, after a beat.

"We can share it," Jimmy said, and lifted the lid of the box. "These are chocolates!" Jimmy said, happily, and clasped Thomas's arm with his free hand. Thomas was opening the wine with a corkscrew that he had pulled from some secret hiding place in his room.

"Chocolate truffles," Thomas amended.

"I _know_ they are," Jimmy returned, and picked one out of the box. "Thanks. They're lovely. You want one?"

"Yes," Thomas said, definitely, and Jimmy frowned. "You can have half of _all_ of them, but you can't have _all_ of one, I want to try every flavor."

"Fine- I have a knife-" Thomas said, but Jimmy put out a hand to stop him. "Don't bother," Jimmy said, and bit the truffle neatly in half, handing the other half to Thomas.

"Hmmm," Jimmy said, nodding his head. "It's good."

Thomas nodded, too, and poured wine into the mug, passing it to Jimmy, who drained the contents in its entirety and handed it back. "Your turn," Jimmy said, and Thomas's dark-colored mouth quirked into a smile. "You must've been hungry when you picked out my gift," Jimmy said.

"It's not a gift if you _asked_ for it," Thomas grumbled, and Jimmy shook his head emphatically _no_. "You're wrong," Jimmy declared- and Thomas poured more wine, and stared into the depths of the mug for a moment, before leaning his head back and draining it, as Jimmy had. The action exposed the line of Thomas's throat. Jimmy could make out the place where he had cut himself shaving- it had healed weeks before, and now was just a faint mark, less than a scar, that time would work into nonexistence.

"People _ask_ for gifts all the time, and when they get them they're still _gifts_, aren't they?" Jimmy asserted, and Thomas took the cup away from his lips, leaving them an even darker red than they had been previously. "Again," Jimmy said, and bit a second truffle in half, handing the other half off to Thomas, and after they'd eaten it, they each drank another mugful of wine.

"Ugh," Jimmy said, on their third truffle, "-this one tastes of violets. Here, have it-" and he lifted the other half to Thomas's mouth, putting his fingers flush against Thomas's lips. Thomas almost flinched- _almost_- Jimmy saw it- but the conditioning was _working_, because Thomas just blinked a few quick times, in that distinctive way he had, and then lifted his hand to Jimmy's fingers, taking the chocolate from him.

Jimmy dropped his hand, but his fingertips tingled from where he had touched Thomas's mouth. Jimmy opted to clear the taste of the sweet out of his mouth with more wine, and as he drank he began to feel very pleasantly warm- and happy, in the place and in the company he kept.

"You know," Jimmy said, when they were both several mugs deep and the contents of the bottle- and the box- were quite diminished, "I do love you, though. Maybe not the same way you love me," Jimmy added, hastily- "but a _lot_- more than _anyone_, and I think we should always... always be _mates_, and live together when we're old... in a flat by the _sea_, maybe- somewhere with a good atmosphere, Brighton or something- or maybe in some grand rooms on the best floor of a New York hotel- and then we can look down on all the city... we can look at-" Jimmy waved his hands in the air- "-we can watch the _people_ walk by, that's what I meant." Vaguely it occurred to Jimmy that he was having the conversation he had not meant to have- the conversation that he had tried to _avoid_ having, the conversation that he had opted out of with his _conditioning_ method.

But there were other, more pressing matters- like the sudden tightness of Thomas's face and the tension in his voice when he spoke. "You're drunk, Jimmy," Thomas said. Jimmy didn't quite see how that point was relevant, even if it _was_ true, and so he pointed an accusatory finger. "_You're_ drunk, too," Jimmy said. "You're all... _flushed_." To illustrate his point, Jimmy reached his index finger to Thomas's face, and drew a line across the middle of it lightly- from one sharp cheekbone, straight across the bridge of his nose, to the other. Jimmy finished this gesture by touching the place on Thomas's neck where he had once sported a cut, and Thomas shut his eyes, his brows knitting together in a pained expression.

"Jimmy-" Thomas said- it sounded vaguely as if he were speaking through his teeth- "what are you-"

Jimmy shook his head, holding up a hand to silence Thomas. "Don't _you _ask questions, _I'm- _I'm... I'm the one asking questions here." _Sure told you,_ Jimmy added, internally- but Thomas _did_ shut his mouth, looking confused. "Now," Jimmy said, sitting forward, "my first question is...why don't you like it when I touch you _here_?"

He placed his hand over the top of Thomas's knee, and Thomas's mouth jerked, convulsively. So did his _leg_, but Jimmy kept a firm grasp on it, digging his fingers into the material of Thomas's trousers. "You hate it," Jimmy said, feeling helplessly upset. "But you like it when I touch you here-" Jimmy laid his other hand on Thomas's hand, still not releasing his firm grip on Thomas's knee. "And you like it when I touch you _here_, I know you do," Jimmy said, moving his right hand off of Thomas's hand, to touch his neck.

"Ah-" Thomas said, when Jimmy paused that way, one hand on his neck and one hand on his leg, "-what are you doing?"

Thomas's eyes, wide and startled-looking, bore into Jimmy's, and with those eyes he searched Jimmy's face. For a second Jimmy almost told him about his whole conditioning scheme, everything, but then he stopped himself. _If I tell him about it, it won't work on him anymore_, Jimmy thought.

"I don't know," Jimmy said instead, but he did not move his hands. Thomas was holding very still, but Jimmy, with his hand against Thomas's neck, could feel how quickly his heart was beating.

_This is a wonderful idea_, Jimmy decided. His face felt very warm- and so did his chest, as if all the blood had rushed to the surface of his skin. _I'm not sure what the idea is, exactly,_ Jimmy thought- but he hardly let the thought worry him, and he slid his hand halfway up Thomas's thigh, rubbing his palm against fabric. "_Hn,"_ Thomas said, his face turning from utter pallor to a brilliant red hue in seconds- "_mm,_ maybe don't _do_ that-"

"I want to do it," Jimmy said- and he surprised himself with the unwavering conviction in his tone. "I want to," he added, simply because he liked the sound of it so much. Very carefully he moved his hand up, and inwards- a scant few centimeters- until he touched the seam of Thomas's trousers, on his inner thigh. Thomas made a strange choked sound, and put one hand on Jimmy's shoulder.

Jimmy looked sideways and down, at the spot where Thomas's hand met his body, and felt the lovely chords of victory thrum through the air around him. _Conditioning_, Jimmy thought, happily. _He never _has _touched me again, not since that night-_ _not until now_-

They stayed very still for a moment, not speaking, in a strange embrace. Jimmy watched the rise and fall of Thomas's chest- for some reason, it fascinated him to no end- and then Jimmy slid his hand a little further up Thomas's thigh, and traced the spot between Thomas's legs.

Thomas had an erection. Jimmy had _known_ that, of course- when you were in love with somebody and they _touched _you, it was certainly a plausible outcome- but the _reality_ of it, of feeling Thomas _there_, hit Jimmy in the chest like a weight. "Yes," Jimmy said, out loud. Thomas's eyes were flickering- open and shut, open and shut- and he brought his free hand up, to cover his own mouth.

"Does that feel good?" Jimmy asked- in his chest he could feel the wild hammering of his heart- but Thomas only nodded, shakily. Jimmy rubbed his palm over Thomas, feeling how _hard _he was even through all the layers of clothing.

"Mm. Yes." Thomas answered quietly, dropping his hand away from his mouth and gripping Jimmy's other shoulder, and Jimmy brushed his fingertips very lightly against Thomas's erection- and then squeezed, as best as he could. _"Ah_, god," Thomas said, his voice wavering.

"Yes. Like that," Jimmy murmured, taking in everything Thomas did- the way he moved his head, forwards and backwards, as if there were some sound he could not escape- and how his eyes were almost closed with a feeling that looked too intense to be properly called _enjoyment-_ and how his body shook, and how his hips seemed to lift into the press of Jimmy's hand.

Thomas took a hitching breath, and reached out one shaking hand, placing it high up on Jimmy's thigh- and Jimmy immediately pushed himself back, breaking all contact. _That is not part of the plan,_ Jimmy thought, and out of his mouth came- "No, don't _touch _me-" in a ragged tone.

"What?" Thomas asked, uncomprehendingly, reaching out to Jimmy- but then Jimmy saw comprehension dawn, and Thomas dropped his hands. "I'm- I'm sorry," Thomas said, his voice a whisper, and Jimmy stood up. "Don't do that," he snapped, angry at the guilt he saw blooming on Thomas's face. "Don't you bloody apologize! You didn't _do_ anything! I- I'm just... I'm just _drunk_," Jimmy decided, nodding once, firmly. _Got a bit carried away._ "Just a little drunk," he repeated. "I... tomorrow we can- _I _can- uh- I need to go to _sleep_." Without waiting for a response he grabbed his box of chocolates- what remained of them- and walked quickly to the door, unbolting it, opening it, closing it behind him- he stepped through the hallway- and then he was in the safety of his own room.

Jimmy closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, taking a shuddering breath. _What the hell was that?_ he asked himself, raising his hands to his head in attempt to blot out the thundering sound of his pulse.

Jimmy dropped the gold box on his vanity and paced the room, stripping down to his underthings as he paced. _What _was_ that? What did you take it so far for? What are you doing?_

The plan had somehow veered off course, and now they were far outside the land of conditioning, in new and strange territories that Jimmy had no map for. _That was cruel_, he told himself, standing in front of the mirror and looking into his own wild eyes. _You know he loves you, and you_ _do _that_ to him- and then you come running in here, like the terrible friend you are- like the terrible _coward _you are-_

"Shite," Jimmy said, viciously, to the mirror. "Shite, shite, _shite_! Bloody buggery damned _hell_!" He kicked out at the vanity, but only succeeded in almost falling over. Breathing heavily, he righted himself, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, seeing, in the mirror, the face of an angry, haunted-looking stranger.

_You'll have to do something to make it up to him,and you'll have to do it, oh, _now_, or else he's going to be bloody traumatized for bloody _life_, and then you'll never-_

"Alright, yes, _fine_," Jimmy said, and fought furiously with his pyjamas, putting them on as expediently as he could. It was difficult- his stupid _body _was achingly aroused, and he pulled his pants up over his erection with an angry groan. _I'll just wait a minute, until I'm in less of a state,_ Jimmy thought, but then he shook his head.

"No, you'll bloody do it _now_," Jimmy told himself, firmly, and exited his room, walking carefully back across the hall.

Cautiously he tried Thomas's bedroom door, thinking it would be bolted- but it opened easily, and Thomas sat upright on his cot, his face a mask of surprise- and Jimmy saw him lift his hands away from his own body, the lower half of which was covered by the blanket.

"If you were going to do that why didn't you bolt the door," Jimmy asked, aiming for lightness- but his voice came out so low and flat that it was not really a question at all. _Maybe it was too hard for him to get up,_ Jimmy thought, and his stomach twisted at the thought. Jimmy bolted the door himself, and took a few steps towards the bed, his bare feet making not a whisper against the floor. Thomas looked up at him, his lips parted in an expression of surprise and mortification.

"I didn't think you'd come back in," Thomas answered, after a moment. Thomas sounded out of breath, and Jimmy groaned, smacking his palm against his own cheek.

"I- I know but I-" Jimmy paused, searching his thoughts, and could not come up with a single one, save for that he should be closer to Thomas- so he crawled onto the cot. Thomas's eyes opened wide at the sudden intrusion, and he made to bring his knees up- but Jimmy crawled right on _top_ of him, so that he was leaning over Thomas. _At least I get to be taller, for once,_ Jimmy thought, and laughed out loud, a little wild laugh that made Thomas look alarmed.

"It's... it's fine, Jimmy, you don't have to do anything, I don't-" Thomas began, falteringly- but Jimmy shook his head.

"I- yes, I have to, I _need_ to- without you, I can't even- _I_-" Jimmy's traitorous mouth babbled, and Jimmy cut off the flow of words before he could reveal anything he would regret. "Just _do _it, alright?" Jimmy said, more harshly than he meant to. He sat up on his legs, his knees on either side of Thomas, his body shaking as though he had particularly exerted himself.

Thomas did not move, however. "Ah- do what?" Thomas asked, unsteadily.

"Just bloody _touch _me," Jimmy said, and closed his eyes, finding Thomas's hand by feel alone, and guiding it up to his body.

"I..." Thomas said, and Jimmy groaned, and thrust Thomas's hand between his own legs, so that Thomas's fingers made contact with his erection. "Mmmph, _yes_," Jimmy said, gritting his teeth, and Thomas, taking a deep breath, massaged his long perfect wonderful _beautiful _fingers against Jimmy- "Oh_,_ _shite_," Jimmy said- he was so unprepared for the intensity of the sensation that it almost knocked the breath from his lungs.

"I need you, I do," Jimmy said, tightly, not thinking at all, just letting words drop from his lips into the air, and Thomas's fingers against him made him _moan_, a strange sound that could not have possibly issued from his mouth- and he leaned forward, putting his arms around Thomas's shoulders, and resting his face in the curve of Thomas's neck. Jimmy smelled cigarettes and aftershave and something else, something indefinable, and he rocked his hips slowly forward into Thomas's hand, trying to take even breaths and failing, failing miserably-

"Oh, give me more, I need more," Jimmy muttered, into Thomas's skin- and Thomas- after a second- pressed one hand to the waistband of Jimmy's pyjamas. "You really want me to," Thomas said, his voice flat and disjointed at the same time. "You really do."

"Yes, I really _do,_" Jimmy said, and Thomas nodded- Jimmy could feel him nod- and dipped his fingers into Jimmy's pants, pulling them down a bit with his other hand, and put his hands around Jimmy's penis, freeing it from the confines of the fabric. "That feels good," Jimmy said, tightly, and Thomas stroked his fingers along the length of the shaft, drawing a moan from Jimmy. "Oh _god _Thomas, _yes_," Jimmy said, and pressed his lips against Thomas's throat, in the spot where he would never have a scar but he had once had a wound- and kissed him there, over and over again, to muffle the sounds that issued from his own throat. "_Hn_, that's-" Thomas said, at the sensation of Jimmy's lips.

"I'm s-so _close _you don't even need to use the p-petrol jelly," Jimmy said, and laughed hoarsely into Thomas's neck, his hips moving in a rhythm with Thomas's touch, and he had _never-_ he had _never_ felt like this, it was unbearable- "_Ah_, ah, _shite-" _Jimmy gasped, and began to thrust into Thomas's hands with real urgency, trying only to get more of his touch-

"Yes," Thomas said, and twisted his fingers in a way that was going to make Jimmy- that was going to make him-

"Wait," Jimmy said, dragging Thomas's hand away from himself with a force of will, and sitting back. "Wait. I-"

Thomas was watching him nervously, and Jimmy felt a stab of sorrow at the fact that he could so easily summon up such a look on the other man's face. "I want us to both do it," Jimmy said, so that Thomas didn't think he was backing out now. "I- let me under there, would you?"

Thomas blinked at him, and then lifted up the coverlet- and Jimmy crawled under it with him. They lay for a second next to each other, both of them breathing rapidly, and then Jimmy reached out, and rubbed his hands across Thomas's chest. "I always wanted to do that," Jimmy said, almost involuntarily, and he reached down and slipped his hands up _underneath _Thomas's shirt, touching bare skin. Thomas's face contorted at the sensation- and Jimmy, encouraged, reached down, inside of the pants that Thomas had probably hastily pulled up when Jimmy had walked back into the room, and gripped his hardon, running his fingers along bare skin experimentally.

"_Ah_, that's-" Thomas said, his brow furrowing. "Do it to me, too," Jimmy said, trying not to sound as though he were begging. With one hand he stroked Thomas's erection, and with the other he mapped out Thomas's body, from the bones of his hip and the coarse hair between his legs all the way up, to his chest, which rose and fell as though he were in the grip of a terrible fever.

Thomas returned the touch, and Jimmy gasped at the sensation of it- his body felt as if it were on fire, and his cock and his skin and his _heart_ ached from Thomas's hands, from Thomas's fingers-

"_Oh_-" Jimmy babbled, as Thomas touched him, twisting his fingers around the head of Jimmy's penis- and Jimmy found, in the edges of his ragged psyche, just enough wearwithall to return the touch, doing back to Thomas what Thomas did to him-

_"Ah, _that's _perfect_, oh- Jimmy oh I _love _you-" Thomas said, his mouth falling open- and Jimmy pressed a finger to his wine-stained lips- and moaned when Thomas _sucked_ on his finger, pulling it between his teeth agonizingly. "_Ah_, hm, yes, do it to me please," Jimmy said, and Thomas moaned in return, as Jimmy gripped the base of his erection tightly for a second, and then rubbed his thumb along the head of it-

-And Thomas's hands were on him and he couldn't- he couldn't- he couldn't _ think-_

"God," Jimmy said, his voice lost- "_God_, oh god I think I'm going to-"

"I know- I _know_," Thomas said, haltingly, and his breath stuttered, and Jimmy felt a tremor begin to work through Thomas- "_Yes,_" Jimmy said, "like that oh like that just _do _it-"

"Ah, I _can't_- I " Thomas said, and Jimmy, shaking violently, increased the pace of his hand, and felt Thomas tense- and as Thomas tensed he gripped Jimmy's erection and touched it _so_ perfectly- so like he had always, always wanted- "_Ah, _god_, ah," _Jimmy hissed- and it _hurt_ it was so good, and if he didn't come he was going to _die-_

"_Oh," _Jimmy said, resting his head on Thomas's chest- "Oh _god_ Thomas I- _ah- I- _shite I'm- _I_-" and then he moaned, his capacity for words lost, and came, shaking, into Thomas's hand- and then, without missing a beat, though his body was trembling uncontrollably- he stroked Thomas once- _twice _more- "_Ah_, _ah_- oh _yes_-" Thomas said, his voice garbled, his hips bucking against Jimmy's hand- "_I can't_ I really- oh, _god-_" -and then Thomas, his face caught in an expression of helpless pleasure, made an incoherent sound- and came, slumping forward, against Jimmy.

They lay, trying to get their breath back- Thomas was entwined around Jimmy, holding him- and Jimmy found that he did not mind it at all. In fact it was comforting, really, to feel Thomas's breath against him- and to experience, firsthand, the slowing of Thomas's heartbeat.

"That was bloody spectacular," Jimmy said when he could speak again, and Thomas breathed out, unsteadily. "I need a cigarette," Thomas said, and propped himself up on his elbows, looking Jimmy in the eyes, which was unusual. "Are you alright?" Thomas asked, peering at him, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow at him, to prove that he was just fine. "_Now_ I'm alright, but I'm sure I'll be telephoning the police tomorrow," Jimmy said, laughing weakly- and then he balked at the expression on Thomas's face. "I did _not_ mean that, you daft idiot," Jimmy said, and raised his hand to Thomas's worried face, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I can see it now. I'll call them and tell them that we-"

"Don't joke about it," Thomas said, his forehead still creased. It took him several tries to get his cigarette lit, because his hands were shaking all over the place. "Alright," Jimmy said, and touched Thomas's chest, just above his heart. "I won't."

"Much obliged," Thomas said, and took a drag from his cigarette- and Jimmy kissed him on the mouth, making Thomas give him an affronted look, before turning his face away, to breathe out a great gust of smoke.

"That's the next thing," Jimmy said, happily, feeling some new kind of joy seep slowly through his feelings and his thoughts, suffusing him with a tenuous- and lovely- sort of optimism.

"What's the next thing?" Thomas asked, brushing his free hand along Jimmy's bare abdomen with an expression of wonder, as if he had woken from dreams only to discover they had become realities.

"Kissing. That's the next conditioning thing," Jimmy said, and Thomas narrowed his eyes at him.

"What d'ya mean," Thomas said, "by _conditioning_?"


End file.
